


Princess Treatment

by Osidiano



Category: Digimon - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Foot Fetish, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osidiano/pseuds/Osidiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr-nonnie asked: “Porn might be an exaggeration but I have a prompt if you don't mind? Prompt: Mimi/Reader fic with the reader sucking her toes and kissing/licking her legs and shoulder/collarbone area after a nice bath/shower. Bonus points if Mimi at least is still in a towel and possibly pins the reader to a wall and kisses them (with prior consent of course). Is that too detailed a prompt?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Princess Treatment

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! _Well_ , that took a freakishly long time (seven months, give or take a bit). Here you go, anon: I hope that this fits your prompt, and sorry about the wait! I've never done any Reader fics before, and I was unfamiliar with writing in the 2nd person in general, so this was quite the challenge. I couldn't get all the bonus points, but I did my best and am pretty satisfied with the end product.

The phone buzzes beside you, its screen lighting up with a familiar new message notification. It reads, **Bring me a towel?**

You blink, looking up from one of the magazines you've been skimming while you waited for her to finish in the other room. Desire itches under your skin like the low drag of anxiety, makes your heart race, your breath stutter. It doesn't take you long to stand, cross the room to the adjacent bathroom, and knock softly. “Mimi?”

She laughs, her voice like music, “Come in.”

You open the door with trembling hands, and when she sees you in the entryway, she smiles over the porcelain lip of the bathtub. Her hair is pinned up, twisted off her neck and away from the receding water. There are a few loose tendrils that have fallen around her face, framing her beauty with an unaffected kind of elegance.

There is soap on her shoulder, white and bubbled and slowly sliding down her pale skin. It teases you, because it is not perfectly place and you know she does not care how much of her you see. You get to see all of her, behind the makeup and the fashion, this flippant selfish girl who likes and loves and does not apologize for being and taking up space, for demanding attention.

You move closer to the tub. She leans back within it. The roll of her shoulders raises her sternum, her pert breasts. Her nipples are rose-colored, small and hard like she had been toying with them before you came in. The water laps at her diaphragm and slender ribcage. Your gaze tracks its progressive succession down her torso, past her navel. It pools low in the tub, suds obscuring a more intimate view, and she pulls her knees up to bare smooth thighs and shapely calves.

Her nail polish sparkles in the stark overhead light, princess pink and glittery where her fingertips come to rest on her cheek and the white rim of the tub. Her phone is on the floor next to your feet. Your mouth is very dry.

Mimi tilts her head and raises a manicured brow coyly. “My towel?” she asks.

It is a game you’ve both long enjoyed. She likes to play, and there is only so much time for subtleties when she is constantly on the move, flying back and forth between Japan and America, or disappearing for days with her friends from summer camp all those years ago. Her parents are taking her to Europe in a few months during the academic break. Objectively, you know that you shouldn't waste time with hesitation. Subjectively, you understand that this is not time wasted, because no time with her is a waste.

You make an affirmative sound because words are hard when she looks at you like that, like she isn't afraid of you seeing how much she likes you and wants you in this moment.

But of course she isn't. Mimi isn't afraid of anything. She knows exactly what she's doing.

You bring her a towel. She bites her lip, and waits for you to collect yourself. The water has drained from the tub. “Let me dry you off?” you ask in a breathless whisper, and you know that your voice is too soft, too reverent. You _beg_ her, because she is so much more than just a girl to you. Because you want _so much_ , and a part of you is afraid that she'll _know_ , she'll _see_. You're not fearless like her. You're not the strong one here.

You offer her your hand first to help her up, then your shoulder to steady her. Water trickles down her slim figure in little rivulets, droplets and soap suds clinging to her curves. You wrap the towel around her shoulders and rub the fabric over her lightly to soak up the remains of her bath. She giggles when you briefly cup her breasts, and again when you slip the towel down to her waist to dry the small of her back. Your hands drift lower then, and you give her a gentle squeeze.

“Step out for me? So I can get your legs.”

She hums in consideration for a moment before she pushes you back a step with one finger to your chest. Mimi is fickle, sometimes, and you know that it is silly to worry she'll change her mind about this at some point in the future, but you do anyway. She steps out and takes a seat, her back straight and hands gripping the edge of the tub, its cool porcelain rim just under the swell of her ass.

The position stretches out her legs, which are spread just wide enough to accommodate you between them, knees angled inward and heels lifted slightly from the tiled floor. Your breath catches. She smiles and raises her brows in a quick, flirtatious gesture.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

You return her smile with one of your own and kneel.

It has always been easy for you to imagine her as royalty, with bright skirts of layered silk and lavishly embroidered bodices, her throat and hair adorned with jewels. Her crown would be cast in gold, her castle would be built from the purest white marble and set high upon a cliffside overlooking the ocean. If Mimi was a queen or a princess, you would be her knight, kneeling at her feet. She doesn't need your protection, but you would offer it anyway, like you offer to touch her now; adoring and earnest and thankful for the honor.

You dry first one leg, then the other, pausing with her dainty foot raised in your hand. It is soft and smooth and pretty like the rest of her, strong from holding her steady in the towering heels she prefers. Her toenails are painted the same feminine shade as her fingers. You drop a kiss on the smallest, revel in the contrasting texture of the polish against your lower lip, and then kiss each toe in turn, thanking them for their work to keep her balanced.

Her foot flexes against the sensation, and you press your open mouth to the pad of her big toe. A quick glance up to her face shows her amused expression, the girlish quirk of her lips at odds with the dark hunger alight in her heated gaze. She nods the consent you sought, and you widen your mouth to let the pad of her toe rest on your tongue for a moment before closing to softly suck on it. Her skin tastes clean and fragrant, still smelling faintly of the lavender bubbles used in her bath water.

You drop the towel and kiss the ball of her foot, then the arch, where she giggles at the ticklish brush of your tongue. You cradle her achilles in your palm and let your mouth wander to the top of her foot. Your lips and tongue graze over the shifting lines of tendons and extensors above her metatarsal bones. Her toes curl in pleasure as your breath fans over her ankle and you move up to her shin.

She puts her foot back down on the floor and spreads her legs wider as you scoot forward to trace the inside of her knee with your nose. You can hear her breath quicken, can see her grip on the rim of the tub tighten. The skin of her inner thigh is smooth and creamy, and she starts to tremble beneath you as you stamp kisses higher and higher.

You can feel her damp pubic hair against your cheek when you kiss the crease at the top of her thigh where it joins her hip. She tilts her head back and exhales a moan. It makes your heart race and your blood thrum in your veins, makes you feel like you're invincible, like her desire makes you powerful. Your eyelids flutter and you inhale her scent where she is getting wet; your mouth waters and you press another kiss to her pubic mound, high enough up that it makes her whine a little, petulant and wordless, because it's not where she wants it most.

You kiss low on her stomach, then dip your tongue into her navel for a second to make her laugh again. Her voice is your favorite music. You would go to war over that sound, would battle any foe she might have had to safeguard it. Your hands caress the backs of her thighs and dance up to rest on her hips. You kiss her ribs one by one on the way up to her breasts and drag your teeth along the sensitive underside before laving your tongue up over a nipple and sucking it into your mouth. Her breath hitches audibly on the gasp that escapes her.

Mimi relaxes her grip on the edge of the tub, leaning forward into you as she lifts a hand to card her fingers through your hair and cup the back of your skull, holding you to her. Your tongue draws small circles around her nipple, then flicks playfully over the hard bud a few times. You give it one last, hard suck and let her breast fall from your mouth.

You kiss a wet path up her sternum to her clavicle, licking softly at the jut of her collarbone. You're careful not to leave a mark, though the possessive thought of it crosses your mind. You pull back just far enough to look at her face again, and Mimi wraps her legs around your waist, crossing her ankles behind your back. Her other hand rises to your face, fingertips trailing along your cheekbone and down your jawline to rest on your chin.

Her thumb presses against your lower lip, tugs down ever so slightly to reveal a glimpse of the wet heat inside. “I love you,” she murmurs, and watches the smile dawn across your features.

“I love you, too.”

“Do you think,” Mimi asks, her tone faux-serious and lips turning down in a pout, “that you could carry me?”

You chuckle, and shift to get up on one knee, one of your hands moving to her back and the other slipping under her ass to support her as you rise to your feet and carry her back to bed.


End file.
